


Rose Garden Dreams

by evgrrl09



Category: Law & Order: Criminal Intent
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Based on a Lana Del Rey Song, Car Sex, F/M, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28544448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evgrrl09/pseuds/evgrrl09
Summary: Fire is both beautiful and destructive. Alex Eames can't escape dreams of roses on fire, just like she can't escape her feelings for the one man she shouldn't love. B/A pairing.
Relationships: Alexandra Eames/Robert Goren
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Rose Garden Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! I’m trying out another Goren/Eames pairing. Lana del Rey is one of my favorites, her song “Cherry” is the inspiration behind this little story. Truth be told, her music has inspired a lot of pairing ideas for me, but this song is the number one.
> 
> I hope you’ll enjoy!

_Love_

_I said real love, it’s like feeling no fear_

_When you’re standing in the face of danger_

_‘Cause you just want it so much_

XXXXX

She dreams of roses on fire. Red petals shrivel to black beneath the licking tongues of flame that spread and spread until only one remains amidst the ashes. And the one rose left doesn’t match any of the others. It is pale as cream, and smells of smoke and scotch. Alex is left staring at the field cold embers, her eyes drawn to the singular flower like a beacon of light calling her home.

When her eyes open at the sound of her alarm, her room is bathed in a cool gray light. She briefly wonders about that rose. Alone, just like her.

But like most of her dreams, the rose makes way for the collection of horrors that await her in the dark alleyways and shadowy warehouses of New York.

Still, as the day goes on, she feels strange. Like she herself is standing in a field of ashes and craggy peaks, and there is no hope of finding another living thing to latch onto.

XXXXX

“Here.”

Alex glances up at the cup in her face. Bobby holds out a paper cup with a tea bag hanging over the side. She blinks.

“You look pretty shook up today,” he explains. “Thought you could use something other than caffeine.”

Shook up is an understatement. They’ve just closed the case on a string of child murders. If Alex had to look at one more child laid out on Rodgers’ morgue table, if she had to look into another pair of devastated eyes belonging to grieving parents, she might have collapsed. They do not personalize crimes. They do not let emotions cloud their investigative abilities, Alex least of all.

She’s not sure why this bothers her so much. She’s not a mother. Cases rarely get to her. But this time around she finds herself unable to close her eyes without seeing the small body of a child, broken and bloody in an alley. She cannot pause for a moment without remembering what it was like to be in the interrogation room with the monster, his eyes ablaze with bloodlust and his aftershave smelling like sugary syrup.

Alex holds back the bile that crawls up her throat.

Without a word, she takes the cup. Their hands brush in the exchange. When their eyes meet, she feels a surge of heat between them. An electric current pulsing that will spark into cold blue flame if ignited.

“Take me for a drink tonight,” she tells him.

Neither of them blinks. Bobby nods then returns to his desk.

Tilting the tea to her lips, Alex inhales. Cherry, peach, and the faintest hint of roses.

XXXXX

There’s not supposed to be any feelings with this. It’s just sex.

It should just be sex, anyway. That’s what it started off as. That’s what it should have stayed. Especially if it was with her partner. Partners are supposed to have your back, not leave a trail of kisses down it.

They face death in the eye every single day. His touch is similar -- an exhilarating caress that makes her veins glow and sparkle underneath her skin. She feels the pulse of that glow as she rides Bobby in the backseat of his Mustang. A breathy cry escapes her mouth, muffled slightly by the sweaty skin of his neck. Opening her eyes, she looks upon his face. The bright amber light of the alley lamp illuminates his face. A haze surrounds them, a cocoon keeping them shielded from the rest of the world.

Here, inside this car, Bobby inside _her_ , they are the only thing that matters. This thing between them is their whole world.

Alex rolls her hips over him, leans closer so her breasts brush against his chest. His hips lift to meet her. He’s within her, physically; he’s within her heart and mind. He knows every part of her, whether she wants him to or not.

His lips trail across her neck. He takes her earlobe between his teeth. She shivers, and he murmurs sweet nothings that send her through space and time like a shooting star. She can’t even remind herself she isn’t allowed to feel this way about her partner.

_Not that kind of partner not that kind of partner not that kind of partner_ , she tries to chant to herself.

Those words are useless. When one hand cups her face, and their eyes lock, reason abandons her. She can’t look away. She can only rest her forehead against his and hold on tight. He doesn't blink, as if he fears the prospect of breaking their connection.

Breathing increases. She wants to cry, she’s in so much ecstasy. Bobby grunts once, and with a final thrust upward, he spills into her. The heat sends her with him. She wants to scream, there’s _so much_ liquid moonlight in her blood.

They stay conjoined. Hearts beat in tandem. Bobby’s large hands cup her face. He moves sweaty hair from her forehead. His expression, usually so guarded, lets down all its walls. Like he sees her, she sees him. She sees all the dark corners, witnesses his flaws, accepts them. She understands him. Both of them have so many broken edges that it’s almost impossible to connect like this with another human being.

They’re both broken -- but their broken parts fit the other’s perfectly.

“Alex.”

_Alex_. Not Eames. She likes the sound of her name on his lips.

As much as she loves it, she can’t hear it. Hearing it makes this real. This can’t be real.

Sliding off of him, she finds a kleenex box and cleans up. As Alex pulls her panties and slacks back on, Bobby watches her. She can feel his eyes following her. Words well up in her throat, desperate to come out. She can’t allow them out because if she does it will be the end of their partnership as they know it. If she lets herself fall, she opens herself to all the emotions she vowed to block out years. She won’t go through another Joe. Bobby is nothing like her husband, but he takes the same risks. He throws himself into danger and thinks about it later.

She cannot let whatever this is with them become more than physical. The _more_ it becomes, the likelier she is to shatter.

“Thanks for the drinks,” Alex says, reaching for the doorknob.

Unable to look Bobby in the eye, but unable to leave without a gesture, she pauses. With closed eyes, she leans back to him, presses a gentle kiss to his cheek, and exits the car.

XXXXX

Alex continues to dream of roses. She dreams of glittering stars and sweet fruits and wind that caresses her cheek as softly as a kiss. She feels her lover’s arms wrap around her amidst all this beauty. But it never lasts long. Those stars explode. The fruit rot. The wind roars in her ears. The roses catch fire and dissolve to ash. Comforting arms fall away, leaving her cold and exposed. She is left alone to face the destruction around her, fear piercing her heart like a shard of glass.

When she wakes, sheets tangled around her sweaty legs and heart pounding, she longs for one thing, one person. But her sheets are cold, and she’s unable to breathe. She tries imagining his breath against the nape of her neck. She curls into a ball, pretending he is behind her and enclosing her in the safety of his embrace. With sheer willpower, she forces herself to think of Joe. She needs to think of her husband. He was it for her, she reminds herself. No one could replace him because she refuses to fall for anyone else.

Slowly, the image of Joe melts like wax. His shape reforms. Joe’s legs lengthen. His chest broadens. Bright blue eyes darken. A clean shaven face sprouts stubble, and the close cropped hair grows curly and streaked with stress-laden gray. Calm descends over her. Her heart rate slows at the image of the reformed man. It’s this man she feels safest with, and the mere thought of him being yanked away in her dream is enough to churn her stomach.

And that terrifies her. 

Alex wonders if this is the sensation only felt in songs and poems written by people long dead. Are these tingles coursing through her blood what launch a thousand ships? Is the knife twisting in her heart what makes people go mad with a desire to protect and be protected? Can this be what it means to know risks but taking them anyway because you are complete in a city that seeks to break you every single day?

She never had this with Joe. These dreams of destruction and decay only started when whatever _it_ was that was going between her and Bobby began. And as frightening as they were, she is able to soothe herself with thoughts of Bobby. His touch, even imagined, takes away the fear, replaces it with something full of warmth.

As she drifts back to sleep, still conjuring her lover’s arms wrapped around her, she thinks of roses on fire. Because as terrifying as it is, it’s exhilarating to watch. That exhilaration is what she feels when his hands roam over her skin.

She smiles. She needs to tell Bobby.

XXXXX

When she says her good morning to Bobby, Alex is unable to contain the smile on her face. She wonders if all epiphanies happen like this. Do they make everyone this happy, even if it is the kind of happy that is accompanied by anxious apprehension? He looks up from the file he’s reading, perplexed at her expression.

“Hi,” he says, his eyes never leaving her as she sits down across from him. “You’re in a good mood. Someone slip something in your coffee, Eames?”

_Call me Alex_ , she wants to say. She still remembers the sheer thrill that ran through her when he whispered her name a few nights prior.

“I just have a feeling today is going to be a good one,” she says. Leaning forward, she notes his gulp when he sees one of the buttons she usually keeps closed is open. “Let’s get drinks tonight.”

_Only this time we’re not ending up in the backseat of your car._

She waits expectantly for his characteristic nod, confirming the tryst. Instead, Bobby looks away, sheepish. He won’t meet her gaze now.

“Er,” he begins, “I -- I can’t. I’m meeting with a, uh, with an old friend.”

He’s lying, she can see it.

And, as if on cue, Mike Logan’s voice blares across the bullpen as he comes in for the day, his statement confirming Alex’s hunch.

“Goren! Got another hot date with _Lola_ soon?” he asks. “You guys looked pretty cozy at Malone’s last night when I ran into you.”

Alex says nothing as Bobby does his best to dodge Logan’s quips about the date he had been on the previous night. Others in the squad room join in, seeming to enjoy that they can tease Goren about something normal for once, rather than a meltdown.

Lola. All Alex knows is she has cats. The cats, and the fact the woman is straight up beautiful. Alex once saw a photo of her: tall, statuesque, with a creamy complexion and a head full of dark ringlets that cascaded down her back.

“Where ya takin’ her tonight?” Logan asks, leaning in on Alex’s side of the desk to fix Bobby with an amused quirk of the lips.

“Not your business, that’s where,” Bobby jokes back. His eyes twinkle, though.

Alex realizes he’s happy in that moment. She thinks she might cry, but what will that do? So instead, she rises from her desk and picks up the file she owes Ross. She walks away from the group of men joking about the Italian-beauty Bobby was taking out.

“File for you, Captain,” Alex says, dropping it on Ross’ desk.

Ross looks up, arches a brow at her. “Everything alright, detective?”

She swallows hard. “Umm, yeah?”

“You just look...off is all,” Ross says, still skeptical.

She shakes her head. “Uh, nope. All good.”

As she returns to her desk, Logan seems to be giving Bobby a lecture.

“Bring her some flowers,” he says to an attentive Bobby. “Red roses. You’ll get laid for sure.”

All Bobby does is chuckle. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Alex keeps her eyes averted. Roses. She was going to tell Bobby about her roses today.

XXXXX

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sleeping with him?” Liz demands as she and Alex receive their drinks in the dimly lit bar. Soft piano music lilts through the room. Alex hopes her curve hugging wine-red dress looks flattering here. Maybe it will pull a stranger into her orbit.

She could use a good fuck tonight.

She wonders if Bobby and Lola are fucking right now. Surely it’s too early for that. Although she knows Bobby is a romantic. If Lola was wearing something sexy, he might not be able to wait. Alex in a pair of jeans that showed even a hint of her midriff led them to fuck in a bar bathroom once.

Tears flood her eyes. She doesn’t want a good fuck. She wants Bobby.

“It’s not exactly something I should be telling people,” Alex hisses. “He’s my partner.”

“Oh, Alex.” Liz is trying to be sympathetic, but Alex sees what is really in her sister’s eyes. It’s pity. Alex hates pity. Her sister seems to wait for her to say something more, but Alex remains stubborn in her resolve. With a sigh, Liz says, “Sweetie, I’ve never seen you like this.”

Alex snorts and tosses back the last of her bourbon. She wishes the burn from the liquor would ignite her whole body and burn her away. “What the hell does _that_ mean?”

“You, sweetie, are in love,” Liz says, flagging down the bartender to get refills. “And since Joe died, I’ve never seen you like this. In love and absolutely incapable of expressing it.” She taps her chin. “Come to think of it, you were never even like this with Joe.”

“I’m not incapable,” Alex grumbles. “I just realized that it can’t work. And him having an actual date makes that even clearer.”

Liz frowns. “Maybe he’s only on a date because he thinks you don’t want him,” she says. “You use drinks as a code for getting together. You only fuck in the back of a car. And that’s been for how long now? Six months?”

“Eight,” Alex interjects.

“Not exactly signs of a romance brewing, Alex,” Liz says. “Or even that you _want_ a romance with him.”

Alex pinches her lips, her grip on her glass turning her knuckles white. This is beginning to sound like a lecture. She’s in no mood to hear about what the proper protocol is for being in an ethically compromised position with her partner from a woman (sister or not) who had been married to the same corporate stockbroker since they both finished college. Liz is only trying to help, Alex knows this, but there’s nothing she can say to cheer her up.

“It doesn’t even matter now,” Alex grouses. “It’s going to be --”

As Alex talks, Liz’s face falls. Her eyes are trained over Alex’s shoulder, near where the door is. Arching a brow, Alex stops and turns in her bar chair. All sound disappears, leaving Alex in a dimly lit vacuum with no sign of escape. Her stomach drops. Sweeping in from outside is Bobby. Beside him, a smile lit up on her red lips, is a curvy woman that laughs at something he says. He’s got that wicked grin on his face, the one he gets when he corners a suspect in interrogation. Alex swears she sees a twinkle in his eye, even from across the crowded bar.

The woman he’s with wears a short black dress. Her legs are miles long, accentuated by her strappy black heels. A warm smile graces her face. She’s even more beautiful than the picture Alex once saw. It’s painfully obvious why Bobby would want someone like this woman. Her face glows with happiness. She’s alluring. She can easily turn to him, whisper something in his ear without having to crane her neck to reach him.

She’s the exact opposite of Alex.

With a tongue of lead, Alex returns her gaze to her sister. If she keeps her head down she believes she can avoid his notice, and will be able to slide out before he even knows that she is there. But even looking away doesn’t help. Alex can feel him in the bar. His mere presence has tingles spider-crawling across her skin. With those tingles comes the rush of heat and flames that she gets just thinking about him.

Alex prays she can stick to her rough outline of an escape plan.

Liz can’t stop staring at Bobby, though. Her mouth drops, and she leans around Alex to get a better look. “Damn,” she says. “ _That_ is his ex?”

Rolling her eyes, Alex readies herself to flee. Her eyes burn. She wonders if Bobby took Logan’s advice and brought roses to Lola.

“We’re leaving,” Alex says, voice and limbs shaking.

Liz places a comforting hand on Alex’s arm. “Alex, c’mon,” says. “Slow down.”

Jerking her hand away, Alex’s arm collides with her empty glass. It falls to the floor, shattering and drawing the attention of everyone around them. Instantly, her nerve endings begin to pulse, the same way they do when she feels Bobby’s gaze on her. The chatter resumes almost immediately, and the bartender tells her not to worry about the mess. But she knows Bobby has seen her now, even though she hasn’t looked at him since seeing him come through the door.

Through the door, with his date.

Alex fumbles with her bag. “Liz, hurry up!” She hears her sister apologizing to the bartender and tossing money to the confused man. For a brief moment, she stumbles. Three bourbons and only a handful of pretzels to counterbalance them is not helping. Her head spins. But she isn’t so sure it’s the alcohol causing the fog in her brain.

She makes it to the street, praying the sounds of the city will clear her head. Maybe if she closes her eyes and empties her mind, the breeze can lift her off her feet and sweep her somewhere in New York where no one can find her.

In the back of her mind, Alex hears her name being called. She doesn’t stop to see who has called her name. She just needs to be _away_.

By the time she reaches the end of the block, a hand has gently taken her elbow. She whirls around, expecting to see Liz. But her sister is still halfway down the block, seemingly stopped as she watches what is about to unfold in front of her.

“Eames.”

Alex forces herself to look into Bobby’s eyes. They’re wide and confused, boyish in their complete lack of comprehension of what is happening. Tears well up in her eyes, but she wills them away. She refuses to let him see her cry. He doesn’t get that from her.

She pulls her elbow away. “What?” she snaps. “What do you want?”

Bobby holds both hands up in surrender. “I just -- I just saw you run out of there. I thought something might be wrong.”

“Sorry to have interrupted your date,” Alex says, certain her voice is bitter and her face is sour.

He presses on, reaching for her again only to be rebuffed once more. “Eames, if something is wrong, you can --”

“I don’t want anything from you!” she yells. Passerbys that normally would not spare a fellow New Yorker having a scuffle on the sidewalk briefly gaped at her. Face flushed, she clamps her lips shut and looks away. She worries he can see her lie, that she does want something from him.

She wants everything from him. She wants to _give_ him everything, too.

Bobby’s fingers brush hers, but this time she doesn’t have the energy to back away this time. Her heart swells into her throat.

“Alex?”

There it is again. Her name on his lips. Exhilaration races through her veins. Heat blooms in her blood, on fire just like her roses. Controlling the trembling of her bottom lip, Alex returns her gaze to him. Neither of them say anything. He searches her face. She’s not sure what he finds there. Under his gaze she begins to falter and crack. Pieces of her spill onto the sidewalk. For a moment, she thinks she sees a flash of what they could be. Roses and sweetness and not caring what the rules are.

But then Alex remembers why they are on the street and why her heart is torn to pieces.

“Go back to your date,” she murmurs. She’s weak. Her legs barely hold her up. She wants to transfer herself far away from where she stands. She wants to hide until her heart no longer hurts.

Without caring that her sister is still far behind her, Alex turns and disappears into the throngs of people. Reality crushes her chest. Roses ignite in her mind’s eye, but she can’t bear to face them until all she smells is ash.

XXXXX

_A touch_

_From your real love_

_It’s like heaven taking the place of something evil_

_And letting it burn off from the rush_

XXXXX

Wrapped in a blanket, Alex lays on her couch. Her eyes are sore and rimmed red. Her nose runs. She hates feeling this way. She can’t even remember if she felt this way when Joe died. Grief once threatened to consume her, but somehow it can’t compare to the utter hopelessness she is experiencing here and now.

Pieces of her fray inside her, sending painful shockwaves through her body. Her chest hurts. She clenches and unclenches her fists. The inside of her mouth is cotton. She swallows past the lump in her throat. In her mind, she sees Bobby with Lola. His hand resting on her lower back. A smile on those red lips as she leans over to whisper something in his ear.

What happened after he went back inside? Did he go back to Lola and pretend nothing had happened? Were they back at his apartment, or her’s?

Something sharp eases its way into her bones, twisting and turning until she can hardly stand it. All new tears well up in her eyes. They trickle down her face. She wonders briefly if this is what a breaking heart feels like.

When she reaches for a box of tissues on the coffee table in front of her, a knock sounds at her door. She has no idea who would be knocking at this time of night. If she ignores it, maybe the intruder would go away.

But it persists, getting progressively louder. Alex groans in frustration. The last thing she needs is her neighbors complaining about the noise in their otherwise quiet building.

“Jesus, I’m coming,” she grumbles, wiping her nose and eyes. She looks like crap in her joggers and tank top, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, nose snotty and runny. But when she peeks through the peephole, she sees her partner filling her doorway. His face is tired, ragged. No way in hell is she opening the door for him. He has no right to see her like this, not when every piece of her has been laid bare and he chose some buxom beauty with too many cats and mile long legs.

The knocking stops. He has probably heard her shuffling on the other side of the door. He shoves his hand in his pockets and sighs.

“Eames,” he says. He waits for an answer. “Eames, I know you’re on the other side of the door. Will you let me in? Please?” He’s pleading with her. He never pleads with her.

Alex remains silent, but she can’t find it in herself to move away from the door.

Bobby sighs. “Eames, listen…” His voice trails off, and she forces herself to move away from the peephole. She leans her back against the door. She matches her breathing with his. Her heart pounds. “I don’t know what I did. But -- but if you’re upset about what I, what I _think_ you’re upset about -- well, it...it…” He takes a deep breath. Alex swears she can hear his heart pounding. “I was going to tell you. That I was seeing her again. That I was going on a date.”

_Oh, so_ that’s _what he thinks is bothering me_ , she thinks, agitated. She cracks her knuckles.

“I didn’t think you would mind,” he says. “We never really, uh, established anything. And when Lola showed up in town again, when I ran into her, I thought maybe -- I don’t know, that maybe I would be able to find something... _someone_.”

_Of course that someone isn’t me_ , Alex thinks. Bitterness floods her mouth and her heart. _All I am to him is a nice fuck when we’re feeling a tad lonely, or stressed, or sad._

Bobby is silent for a moment. She hears his large hand rest against the door. “I’m -- I’m going on another date with her. In two nights.”

Alex swallows a sob. Why did he have to come here? Why is he doing this to her?

His voice softens, and she almost can’t hear it. “But if you tell me not to...I won’t.” He stays silent for a long moment. If it weren’t for the fact she cannot hear his lumbering gait, she might have thought he left. But he’s there. “Tell me you don’t want me to go on this date. Tell me that, and I’ll call Lola to tell her I won’t be making it. That I _can’t_ make it.”

Alex rests her forehead against the cool wood of the door. Blood roars in her ears. Something inside her screams to react, to say something. _Anything_. She wonders if she’s only imagined what he said. Was the tightness in his voice his heart lodging there?

“I just need to hear you say it,” Bobby goes on. “Because...if you --” He takes a long pause again. “Because I need to know if what you want is what...is what _I_ want. What I’ve been too scared to tell you.”

Alex’s heart, which up until now has been hammering in her ribs, crashes to a halt. What he wants. She rests her hand on the door. On the other side of the door, she hears him shift his weight from one foot to the other. Daring a look through the peephole, she sees him leaning against the wall. One of his hands is on the door. She can’t see the other.

“Please, Alex.”

She can’t take it any longer. The simmering tension inside her bursts into flames, raging through her body. With trembling fingers, she undoes the lock on the door and releases the chain.

It’s not Bobby’s face she finds first. It’s what he holds in his hand, the one she couldn’t see through the peephole. Between his fingers, petals facing downward on the floor, is a single white rose. Her stomach churns with rage. Did he just bring her a pity flower from whatever he’d given to Lola?

As if reading her thoughts, Bobby rushes to say, “This wasn’t for her. Logan, uh, had said red roses earlier. Which I didn’t actually end up buying for her. I actually ran across some guy just selling single roses on my walk here. Not sure why…”

Alex finally looks at him. Pooled in his eyes is the tenderness she saw in the back of his car. Sure, there had been other moments he’d looked at her this way -- when she woke in the hospital after being kidnapped and told him he looked like hell; when he woke in the hospital after being released from Tates and smiled at her, thanking her for pulling him out of hell; when she touched his cheek after his mother’s funeral, leading to discarded panties and a broken belt buckle and saying to hell with the rules.

She swallows hard. When he holds it up, she wonders if it will ignite the way the roses in her dreams do. Words float in her mouth, desperate to come out. But if she reveals them, there’s no going back.

“Besides, white ones are supposed to mean something different,” he stammers, offering it to her.

Alex takes the rose, holding it between her fingers. She traces one of the petals, silky and soft against her skin. Realizing she still hasn’t said anything, she touches his stubbled cheek, runs her hand through his graying hair. She’s painfully aware again that she is so much shorter than the woman he had just been out with. But the look he’s giving her right here. She knows he’s never looked at anyone else this way. The light in his eyes is too unfamiliar for him, she knows he’s wrestling with how to contain it.

They stare at one another. His hand raises to clasp hers. The slightest tilt of his head allows him to brush his lips against her palm. She shivers. Her legs shake under her.

As if sensing she needs a steadying presence, Bobby leans down to rest his forehead against hers. She lets out a wobbly breath. Closing her eyes, she relaxes into him.

And just like that all thoughts of resistance fade. She should have realized this a long time ago. They fit. More than partners. More than friends. More than lovers.

_Equals._

Alex clasps the rose to her chest and opens her eyes. The sweet scent drifts up from the petals. Bobby meets her gaze, hopeful.

“You better tell her you’re not going to make it to that date,” she whispers. The corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly.

Heaving what sounds like a sigh of relief, he pulls her into him. Alex grins against his chest, savors the warmth of his breath on her neck. When his hands roam up her sides, heat blooms through her belly, between her legs, within the crevices of her heart. She pulls back to cup his face. His eyes shimmer back at her, dark and brown as brandy.

Bobby gives her a wicked grin before capturing her lips with his.

“I have never been so happy to cancel plans,” he murmurs, lifting her off her feet so her legs wrap around his hips. Alex’s rose drops to the floor as she laughs. She’s in love. And it terrifies her.

Wrapped in Bobby’s arms that night, Alex dreams of her roses again. They’re burning. The heat scalds her face. The fire is alive and well, raging and horrifying and beautiful.

When she wakes in the morning with his breath on the nape of her neck, she turns in his arms and kisses him until he opens his eyes. Bobby smiles lazily, eyes still thick with sleep. She worries for a moment what might happen if they leave this bed.

Will Ross find out about them? Will Bobby change his mind? Will they be able to continue working together?

“I love you,” she finally whispers. Burying her face in his neck, she plants soft kisses on his smooth skin. He smells like her perfume and sex.

As Bobby tightens his hold on her, grunting a good morning, he returns, “And I love you.”

Somehow, with those words, Alex no longer fears the flames.

So she tells him about her roses.

XXXXX

_'Cause I love you so much, I fall to pieces_


End file.
